


The Littlest U.N.C.L.E Agent

by 26foxbuck221



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (TV)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-01
Updated: 2016-02-01
Packaged: 2018-05-17 13:12:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,116
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5870953
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/26foxbuck221/pseuds/26foxbuck221
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Napoleon Solo finds a blond, blue eyed child locked in a cell, his hands wrapped around Illya's gun.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The Littlest U.N.C.L.E. Agent Affair

This is a prompt from krokodil in AO3 for her picture story “The Littlest U.N.C.L.E. Agent”  
As always I own nothing, nada, zilch, nichego pertaining to The Man From U.N.C.L.E. TV or movie franchise. This is just for fun. No profit nor money being made by me what so ever. 

Tmfutmfutmfutmfutmfutmfutmfutmfutmfutmfutmfutmfutmfutmfutmfutmfutmfutmfu

“Illya…..Illya? Come on, partner mine. Answer me. I know you're here somewhere.”

The call was a mere whisper. The U.N.C.L.E. troops had infiltrated deep into the satrap but they weren't ready to invade the lab and set the explosives quite just yet. The reason being they had yet to ascertain that all the security personnel and alarms had been found and deactivated. And there was one little order of business that had to be taken care of first and that was to find Section 2's second top man. So far the holding cells had proven to be empty but Solo wasn't about to give up hope even with only a few more to go. 

He came to a sudden pause then went into a crouch. A soft sound had become audible, his sense of hearing analyzed then recognized it. The nasal rhythm of a sleeper. He crept closer to the cell to his left and peered through the bars. He could see just a glint of pale gold that could be hair but something didn't feel right. Testing the door he found it locked but that was an easy fix and he set to work bringing the solution into play. A hiss, a flash of light and heat and the door swung open. Solo crept in and knelt beside the cot.

This was not an adult but a child. Who in hell locks a child all alone in a cell? He started to reach out when in a flurry of movement he found himself staring into the barrel of a gun, held in two very small hands of a very pale, blue eyed, determined looking little boy. Solo slowly sat back, hands raised. 

“Nazi svin'ya!”

Napoleon slowly shook his head. “No, I'm American. I've come to get you out of here.”

The small head ticked slightly to one side but the blue eyes never left him. The muzzle never wavered.

“Amerikanskiy?”

Solo nodded. “Yes, Americanski.” Then he moved his open hand slowly to tap himself on the chest. “Solo. My name is Napoleon Solo. What is your name?”

The boy repeated Napoleon's name slowly then a silence fell. Napoleon took a slow, deep breath and released it just as slowly then peered intently into the small child's face.

“Can you tell me your name? What do they call you?” 

Then the dark haired agent gave a start as a realization washed over him. A germ of a thought was born that left him feeling cold to the core. The boy had used the word Nazi. He couldn't think of a child born within the last decade in the US who would use the word with such vehemence and loathing. But he was well acquainted with a young man who had been a child in the last World War. A child who had seen far to much of the horrors perpetrated by the hands of Nazi Germans first hand. 

Did THRUSH now have the capabilities to transform a grown man into so small a child? There had been a machine, but to reduce an adult to so young a child had proved fatal. Those who had been successfully changed had been killed or needed medication to maintain the changes. But the machine had been destroyed. But that wouldn't stop THRUSH from continuing to manipulate men and science in their quest for world domination. 

Although his heart felt leaden, Napoleon put on his most winning smile. “I bet you have a very interesting name. You're Russian, am I right?”

The boy's face seem to cloud. Not quite a pout, but as if he was concentrating very hard but he nodded. “Da.”

I'm Solo….so….you are...is it Igor?”

The little chin came up. “Nyet. Ne* Igor.”

“Boris?”

The bright head began to move in the negative when the flesh around the eyes tightened and the small nostrils flared slightly. The blue eyes blinked rapidly. “Illya Nickovitch….”

Solo caught the pistol as the little hands flew to cradle a drooping head. He examined the weapon and couldn't help but notice the engraved “K” on the butt end and felt a spark of anger take seed. What ever game THRUSH had playing ended right here and right now.  
“Come here, Illya.” Solo kept his voice soft but imploring, his hands held out towards the child. 

“Illya?”

Slowly the head came up, giving Solo a glimpse of watery blue peering through a thatch of bang, the lower lip protruding slightly. Napoleon wriggled his fingers slightly. Slowly the boy crept forward until he was standing within reach. 

“You ready to let me take you out of here?”

The boy remained silent but stepped between the offered arms. As Solo picked the child up, he felt the small body stiffen.

“Shush, hey. It's going to be okay. Just relax for me.” And he settled the little body against his shoulder. Napoleon slowly stood and turned towards the door. It wasn't until they were actually outside the cell that he felt the young Russian's body start to loosen, resting his head against the older man's shoulder. 

Solo slowly worked his communicator out of his inner pocket and opened it. “Open Channel D, Mark Slate.”

“Right here, mate. What you got?”

“A change of plans. We are not, I repeat, we are not blowing the lab. We are going to need every lab technician and scientist all in one piece and in custody. I'm bringing the reason why to you know. Solo out. Get Mr. Waverly on the line, please.”

“Your report, Mr. Solo.”

“We've secured the satrap and the lab. Due to unforeseen developments, we are unable to destroy it.”

“Were you able to locate Mr. Kuryakin?”

“That's the rub. We have found a small boy. Speaks Russian, blue eyed, very blond hair. He knows what a Nazi is and doesn't like them very much. He was alone in a cell with Mr. Kuryakin's Walther. The child knows how to use it and is not afraid to. I was wondering, sir, if there was anything in Mr. Kuryakin's file that only he would know. Something from his childhood?”

There was a pause on the other end. “Prepare to meet me at the airfield tomorrow morning around 7:30 am. Waverly out.”

Grimly, Napoleon put the communicator away and assembled his own weapon. They had a ways to go before the labs. Heaven help anyone that got between him and this one goal. There had to be a way to reverse the affects of what ever they had done to this child. 

The corridors leading to the labs were empty of any Thrush operative and Solo was feeling more then a little annoyed that he couldn't take his irritation out on someone. But maybe it was just as well. Any violence would put the boy at risk. Even as this thought entered his head he felt the head lift off of his shoulder. Then there was a roar and all hell seemed to break lose and Solo had his hands full. 

“NYET!!!”

And Napoleon was trying to keep the boy from digging his way up over his shoulder and down his back, as the cry of “nyet!!” rang around his ear. It only took him a moment to realize that it was the familiarity with this area of the satrap that was upsetting the little Russian and Solo began to back away from the doors leading to the labs as he grabbed and tried to haul the boy back, afraid that in his panic, the kid would fall and hurt himself. 

“Whoa,whoa,whoa you've got to calm down. We're not going there. See? We're walking away. We'll just keep on walking. See?”

The boy had stopped his frantic struggles but Solo could feel the little body tremble and the child hiccuped. Solo sighed. He needed a distraction but he also had to alert Mark that he would not be coming to the lab and started to fish out his communicator when he was hit with an idea.

“Hey, Illya.”He nudged the boy gently until he had his attention then he showed him the silver pen. “Watch this.” He slowly uncapped the instrument and assembled the communicator. “Open Channel D, Mark Slate.”

“Napoleon? Where are you?”

“Hit a bit of a snag. We can't come to the lab, so you and April are going to have to come to us. I'm going to try to find what passes for a cafeteria in this place. See you in a bit, Solo out. Okay, kid. Lets go find something to eat.”

He was watching the little Russian tucking into another helping of warmed up canned soup with a few day old rolls when someone entered the room. He looked up to find Mark and April moving through the tables. He wasn't surprised when they paused when they caught sight of his diminutive companion. Illya paused in his chewing to eye the two newcomers. He cast an inquiring glance towards at his dark haired companion and when Solo gave them a finger wave continued to eat. 

Mark and April slid into chairs at the table and turned their attention to their CEA. It wasn't hard to figure out what was going through their minds, the same thoughts and wondering was keeping his brain cells occupied. 

“I can't be sure who this is, but I have I my suspicions and I will have the answers to all of our questions. I have contacted Mr. Waverly and he's going to be coming in tomorrow morning. Has any of the lab techs decided to be cooperative at all?”

“Early days yet, mate. Of course we didn't know they had this little guy tucked away. Hhmmm….this isn't….well...you said you had suspicions.”

“I do. And I have seen something like this before, but it wasn't pleasant as in the subject didn't survive.”

Slate slowly stood up. “I'll do some asking around. Excuse me.”

Three pair of eyes watched him go. Then April looked at the little blond. “Where did you find him, Napoleon?”

“Down in the cell block. Locked in and armed.”

“Armed? With a gun?”

“Exactly, Illya's Walther.” Then he reached around to where he had tucked the pistol in the back of his waist band. He checked the chamber and then the magazine perplexed.

April peered intently into the man's troubled face. “Napoleon?”

“They're both empty. No bullets, no darts.”

“Because he was going to be rescued.”

Illya's head shot up and started to crawl out of his chair, his eyes locked on the newcomer.

Solo laid a hand on the boy's shoulder. “It's okay. Shush now.” then he turned his attention back to the man in a lab coat being guarded by Slate and two more U.N.C.L.E. agents.

“A fake rescue? Making the kid think that Thrush was the good guys?”

“Very quick, but yes. “Raise a child up in the way he should go.” or some such quote. Why kill a highly trained enemy agent? Yes, a lot of his memories as an adult are suppressed at the moment, but we were hoping, in time, they could be brought to the fore. Really, Mr. Solo. Thrush is getting quite tired of trying to kill you two. You are very skillful and talented. How much simple it would be just to train you up thinking that Thrush is everything you could want to serve.”

“So, you are saying that this kid is truly Illya Nickovitch Kuryakin and you have been successful in age-regression.”

“Oh, I suppose I can't blame you for being skeptical..but yes. That is exactly what I am saying and what you have some suspicions of already. I also suspect you want to know if this is permanent? That we don't know. He was our very first test subject. His recent blood tests do show that his body is trying to reestablish it's former pre-regressed state. Which means, if that is true, he is going to be very uncomfortable soon. How long it will take, that is anyone's guess.”

“So there is nothing in that lab that is going to help us figure this out?”

“No, Mr. Solo. I wish there was. I wish we had the knowledge because it would help us as well. It would help us establish a program that would lessen the need for violence when dealing with you people. Oh well.”


	2. The Littlest U.N.C.L.E Agent

The Littlest U.N.C.L.E. Agent

Chapter ll

I want to thank all of you who have responded to this little tale. Especially to krokodil for the inspiration. 

For us who love spies and special agents, it will always be 1964, and despite what Mr. McDaniel wrote, Mr. Waverly will always be the head of U.N.C.L.E. North America, Napoleon Solo will work side by side with a Soviet Russian to keep the world safe from the likes of Thrush. 

As always, I own nothing of The Man From U.N.C.L.E. I am not making any money, this is for fun and the joy of creativity. 

Tmfutmfutmfutmfutmfutmfutmfutmfutmfutmfutmfutmfutmfutmfutmfutmfutmfu

With a curt jerk of his head, Solo signaled the two guards to remove the scientist from their immediate vicinity. Resting his elbows on the table, he cupped his chin on the knuckles of his folded hands as Mark moved to rejoin the small group. 

“Well, here we are. What is our next step?”

Solo was watching the boy eat, even though the spoon had slowed. The smallest occupant at the table seemed to be trying to follow the conversation. 

“Have you been able to ask him any questions, Napoleon?” April spoke in Solo's general direction but she was watching Illya. The boy in turn, shot glances her way, one little eyebrow arched. 

“No, it seems he is suffering the usual headache associated with Thrush's dubious hospitality. When I ask him anything and he tries to answer, you can see the discomfort it costs him.”

“And the “Old Man”, what did he say about it?” 

“Actually, Mark, he didn't have much to say at all. I told him about finding a Russian speaking child who hates Nazis and knows how to handle a gun. I asked him if there was anything in Mr. Kuryakin's file that only Illya would know. Something from his childhood. All Mr. Waverly said was, to prepare to meet him at the airport around 7:30 tomorrow morning.”

“Well that's interesting, isn't it.”

“It is indeed.” Solo glanced as his watch. “How is the cleaning up going, by the way?”

“Microfilm and dots being shipped out now. Everything that couldn't be copied or smuggled out is being destroyed. So far nothing indicates that Thrush is aware of this little escapade of ours. The medicals have arrived.”

Solo cringed inwardly. This was the part of the job he hated the most, counting the losses. They all knew the risks but that didn't make it any easier when a good man or woman, went down. 

“Did we lose anyone?”

“Not yet. Three of ours down, one critical. The Thrushes are being sent off to HQ to be dealt with.”

“Are the charges set?”

“Yes, but not armed per your orders.”

“Go do that now. Give us 20 minutes.”

Slate nodded, turned on his heels and left. 

“See if Illya will go to you, April. If he doesn't put up a fuss, get him out of here. I'll be right behind you.”

“How many times have we all heard that.” She muttered lightly then turned to the boy and smiled warmly and held out her hands. “We've got to move little one, come on.”

The blue eyes scanned towards Solo. When the older agent gave a small smile and nod of the head, the blond head echoed the motion and moved towards April and allowed her to pick him up. 

“Be out in ten.” And she and the boy were out the cafeteria door. 

At 2:15 am, the Thrush satrap was deserted. At 2:25 am the area was rocked by a massive explosion and resulting fire. 

IOIOIOIOIOIOIO

 

The airport terminal held very little traffic as a scattering of people took up temporary residence in the lounge as the early morning flights began to touch down and their passengers began to disembark. As the passengers entered the terminal, people rose to greet them. A young family rose to greet a smartly dressed elderly man carrying an attache case. 

“Uncle Alex. So glad you could make the trip.”

The two men shook hands. 

“I was more then happy to make this journey, Mark. Is this the young man I have heard about?” The man knelt in front of the young blond haired child. The little boy gave the stranger a steady glare before starting to back away but only until the elder gave a smile and began to address him in flawless Russian, then he was raptly attentive. After a few minutes, with a wink, the man straightened. 

“Is there a place where we might have some privacy?”

Mark nodded and “Uncle Alex” offered his hand to the child who took it without hesitation. Together, the four moved to a quiet, almost silent corridor to a small room. Once inside, with the door shut, not even the whine of the jet engines could be heard. A few moments later a knock sounded and the agents went on high alert. Mark paused while April drew her special. 

It's probably only Napoleon.”

“True love. But lets make sure.” Mark moved to the door. “Aye? And who is it?”

“It's Solo, Mark.” Slate opened the door slowly. Then stepped aside letting the door widen.

“Come in mate. I think the party is now complete.”

Alexander Waverly sat his small companion on the large queen sized bed. “Now young man. I understand that you were rescued from a most precarious situation. I also heard that you were very brave and capable of defending yourself. Very admirable in one so young. Now, enough of that. You're name is Illya Nickovitch Kuryakin, da?”

The boy nodded enthusiastically. 

“Then I think I have something I have in safe keeping for you. I know you must find yourself in very strange circumstances and this may be of some help. But I need you to promise me that if this is not yours you must tell me so. I have several like it and I may not have brought the right one. Do you understand?”

“Da, I do. If not mine I must return it.”

Waverly smile and nodded. “Indeed. Very good. Now, let us begin.” He opened the attache case and took out a small square case and handed it to the child. The small hands gently opened the hinged velvet flocked lid. Gently he lifted out the item, cupping it in one hand, while stroking it gently with a finger. Then he lifted a face bright with a smile. “Oh, da. It is….”

Then the smile began to fade. “I not understand. I no longer in Ukraine….this not Kyiv….”

Waverly moved to pick the child up then sat down with the little Illya on his lap. “The person who gave this to keep for you said it was very special. Things that only you would know about it. Will you show me?”

The bright head nodded slowly and the shoulders rose and fell with a deep sigh. Then the child lifted the piece of jewelry so that the elderly man could see. “Is fire bird. See? Here is neck. Here wings and long tail with special feathers. But when you turn….. like this…...do you see it?”

Rough fingers gently cupped the young ones lifting the item closer so that the small painting could be examined more closely. 

“Oh, by jove. I think I do….it resembles a…..it's a mermaid, isn't it?”

Again there was a nod then the little fingers manipulated the piece to show the simple black back but one little thumb stroked it reverently.

“Is made from my grandpapa's balalaika. It was…..broken….Shasha found. Used wood to make for Mama.”

The hand painted broach* was tenderly returned to the nested box, the cover closed silently then held out to Mr. Waverly.'

“Maybe you keep longer. Keep safer.”

A finger was placed under the chin and gentle tilted up. “You are safe here, my boy. As safe as we can make it for you. I will take it back. But you only need to ask.”

Illya sighed as his head drooped to rest against the elder's chest. 

“I not feel so well.”

Cradling the small body, Waverly stood. “It is time for us to return to New York. I will take….mmmm…..yes…..young Kuryakin with me. 

Tmfutmfutmfutmfutmfutmfutmfutmfutmfutmfutmfutmfutmfutmfutmfutmfutmfutmfutmfumtmfu

 

*This brooch actually exists. The Firebird is my favorite Russian skazka or fairy tale. I ordered a hand painted broach. When it arrived and I showed it to my sister, it was she who pointed out the mermaid hidden among the wings of the Firebird.


	3. The Littlest U.N.C.L.E. Agent

The Littlest U.N.C.L.E. Agent  


Illya has to age progress somehow, right? Hope I can do this justice.

As always, I own nothing pertaining to The Man From U.N.C.L.E. franchise. This is just for fun, not profit. 

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Solo looked thoughtful as he studied the agents around him. “We stirred up a major hornet's nest this morning, sir. By this time, Thrush Central is probably out hunting. Maybe we should stick together….could we get a private flight out?”

Mr. Waverly gave a decisive nod of his head. “Very good thinking, Mr. Solo. We will procure emergency medical transport. Mr. Solo, if you would be so kind as to impersonate a member of the medical profession. Mr. Slate, Miss Dancer and I will continue as a concerned family over a very sick child. Miss Dancer, if you would take him please. It would look more convincing to have a distraught parent carrying him.”

Dancer stepped forward smiling gently, hands out. The boy studied her for a moment, then with a deep sigh reached for her leting her cradle him in her arms as he wrapped his around her neck burying his face in her shoulder. Once the boy was settled, Solo nodded to Mark. 

“Okay, Mark, open the door. We're on.”

The four adults rushed down the corridor into the main reception area of the airport, Mark and April looking markedly distressed with Waverly marching grimly behind, hat in hand. In an intense group they descended upon the nearest airline employee. 

“Miss, we need an emergency through flight to New York City. This child very sick and I need to get him to my medial team, STAT.” 

The attendant glanced at the group then grabbed up the phone and dialed a number. 

“Mr. Roberts, we have a medical emergency. Is there an air taxi available? Yes? Thank goodness! What gate please. I will see to it personally. Thank you.” She hung up while putting up a “lane closed” sign and rounding the counter.  
“Follow me please.” She set a brisk pace through the terminal and out onto the tarmac where a small plane taxied into position. The door and steps were quickly set in place and the group was ushered into the passenger's lounge. 

“Buckle up, folks. We have clearance and will be departing shortly.”

Waverly faced the pilot before setting down. “We cannot thank you enough, but I do have a request. There is a private airfield outside of New York City used by dignitaries and diplomats visiting the city. You will have clearance to use it if you agree to sit us down there?”

The man hesitated for a moment, but then taking in the British accent and the high end suits and nodded. “Of course, sir. If you will just give me the co-ordinates.” 

“I will do so after we have departed this airfield. Needs must that these co-ordinates not be made public. I hope you do understand.”

“I think I am getting the picture. Sure, why not.”

Waverly allowed a sincere smile. “Your trust will be awarded with our deepest appreciation.” With a bow of his head, he moved to take his seat and buckle up.

Once the pilot entered the cockpit, Slate retrieved his communicator and spoke discreetly into it for a few moments.

“I've arranged an unmarked diplomatic limo to meet us.”

“Very efficient indeed. Thank you, Mr. Slate. That is all we can do for now.”

Once the plane was off the ground, Mr. Waverly made his way to the cockpit to speak with the pilot. Once the plane landed, the agents were whisked away in a vehicle maintained and operated by U.N.C.L.E. but not kept at their regular motor pool. Their entrances to HQ were well secured, but a few had been breached from time to time, such as Del Floria's. So others had been created with security measures even unknown to other agents but Section 1 Number 1 and Section ll's. It was to these that the limo stopped until all were safely disembarked and on their way to Waverly's office for the debriefing. 

As the Waverly, his CEA and Section ll's now youngest agent approached the first security desk, the attending agent smiled and stood to pin the appropriate badges on. Seeing the boy, she started to reach for a visitor's pass only to have the head of Section One huff and wave her hand away. Seeing her confusion, Waverly reached for a familiar yellow triangle then knelt so that he could look the child in the eye. 

“I think Kuryakin's badge will do nicely, don't you?”

Intense blue eyes searched the man's face as little fingers touched the triangle on his own chest. 

“Moy?”

Waverly nodded. “I know. It must all be so very confusing right now.” He held his hand out and the boy took it. “But I trust, in a while, all will be made clear. Come along.”

They found Slate and Dancer already waiting before Miss Roger's desk. At Waverly's nod, she activated his door and they all passed through into his office. Waverly moved to his computer console, flipped a few switches while picking up the mic. 

“This is Waverly speaking. I want to congratulate all of those involved in the successful destruction of another Thrush satrap. Well done, ladies and gentlemen. Well done indeed. That being said, regrettably, I do have to report that we have suffered 4 casualties. I repeat, these are casualties, not fatalities. Agents Kuryakin, Fasir, Makin, and Pennyworth will be on medical leave until further notice. Their status will be updated as is known. Thank you, Waverly out.”

“Miss Dancer, would you mind escorting….young mister Kuryakin to one of the residential suites?  
He can reside there until we understand just what it is we up against in this….age-regression….thing. Oh and find someone who can speak Russian and stay with him for the duration.”

“Of course, sir. Come darling. Let me show you to your quarters.”

Illya took her hand but his eyes sought out Mr. Waverly's.

“Go with her for the time being, young man.”

Once they had left, the head of U.N.C.L.E. North America turned to the two remaining agents. “A full report gentlemen and leave nothing out.”

Once Slate and Solo finally fell silent, the older man sat reflectively puffing at his briar. Finally he took it out of his mouth and tapped it lightly, knocking the plug loose. 

“So. There can be no trips to medical. Yet we need an assessment.”

“Maybe if we take Dr. Johnson up to him,sir? No white coats, no instruments. Just…” Solo sighed. “Mr. Kuryakin.” He shook his head ruefully. “Along with some of us...and an interpreter”.

“Very well, Mr. Solo. I'll leave that in your capable hands. Let me know when Dr. Johnson makes the appointment. Dismissed, the both of you.”

 

IOIOIOIOIOIOIO

A few days later Solo, Slate, Dr. Johnson, Solo and Dancer are all seated in Waverly's office. The good doctor setting at the round table close to Mr. Waverly with a folder in front of him.

“I do apologize for not having this done sooner, Mr. Waverly. We have been waiting for the transcriptions of the micro dots and films of the experimentation used on Mr. Kuryakin and, of course, my own observations.” Here the doctor opened the folder and handed around a sheaf of stapled pages.

“I must ask, how old is Mr. Kuryakin at this juncture?”

Mr. Waverly answered. “He is eight anyway, no more then 9. The German army invaded The Ukraine and captured Kyiv in 1941. A combined Soviet front would be able to recapture the city in 1943. If he believes that he was in German hands then…..well. That's enough to go on, I think.”

“I see. He is far older then I would have put him at.”

“He was born during a time when Stalin was systematically starving his own people to death. No doubt his mother was malnourished.”

The doctor nodded with a heavy sigh. “Then it would be best, in my opinion, that he be allowed to age normally. Which is what Thrush seemed to have intended, according to their initial reports. But, having said that, it appears, by their own recorded findings and tests post age-regression, that this might not be a viable outcome. Which does bring some disturbing questions and concerns. If he does start, let us say, have aging spurts, there are going to be memories and life experiences from that time period. How is he going to assimilate those memories with the realities of his present situation?

We cannot, say, put him aboard a submarine in the Russian navy until he grows past these points of experience. So, what I am saying, in short, is, I am concerned for his mental health and well being if he should indeed begin to age progress at an abnormal rate.”

tmfutmfutmfutmfutmfutmfutmfutmfutmfutmfutmfutmfutmfutmfutmfutmfutmfutmfutmfutmfutmfutmfutmfutmfutmfutmfutmfutmfutmfutmfutmfu

Hhhmmmm didn't progress as far as I had hoped. Getting around to "torturing" the child Illya is giving my pause, but I will get it done! Promise. Onward and upward!

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [The Littlest U.N.C.L.E. Agent](https://archiveofourown.org/works/5911678) by [Mrs_Spooky](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mrs_Spooky/pseuds/Mrs_Spooky)




End file.
